Four Years Go By So Fast: A Look Back
by Apologiesqueen
Summary: Ten writers have collaborated to write this round robin story about the BSC members' most memorable high school moments. Though the club is no longer together, the former club members, including Mallory and Jessi, come together at a graduation barbecue.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTION**

By Apologiesqueen

**YOU'RE INVITED!**

**What:** Graduation party!

**Where:** Thomas-Brewer residence, 1210 McLelland Road

**When:** Saturday, June 16, 5 PM – ?

**RSVP:** Kristy, 642-1258 (cell)

_Watson will have the grill set up, and we'll provide the food and soda. Feel free to bring your own special snacks or drinks. _

--

After what seemed like an impossibly long four years, Stoneybrook High's seniors were finally about to graduate. On a Tuesday morning two weeks before graduation, Claudia and Stacey found the invitation to Kristy's graduation party in their lockers. Kristy was still friendly with Mary Anne and Abby, so she delivered their invitations by hand, as well as Logan's, since they ran into each other sometimes at their sports practices after school. She asked Mary Anne to pass on the word to Dawn, who'd be graduating from Vista a week earlier than Mary Anne and would be flying from California to attend Mary Anne's graduation. Kristy snagged Shannon one afternoon when she saw her in the neighborhood walking her family's dog, Astrid. She left invitations for Mallory and Jessi with their families, since Mallory would be coming home for the summer from Riverbend, the boarding school in Massachusetts she'd attended since the sixth grade, and Jessi would be home from the ballet academy in New York.

It had taken Kristy what seemed like forever to draw up the guest list for her party. Watson, her stepfather, was a millionaire, so the number of people she invited was only limited by the size of the family's (rather large) backyard. The names of some of the guests she wanted to invite immediately came to mind: her softball teammates, of course, plus Emily Bernstein, the SHS newspaper editor and a girl Kristy, Claudia, and Mary Anne had been friends with in middle school, and Pete Black, a guy who'd always kind of teased Kristy and her friends during their SMS days but who had turned out to be a smart guy with a wickedly sarcastic sense of humor. He and Kristy ended up in at least one class together every year.

Since she was still relatively friendly with Mary Anne and Abby, it made sense to invite them, and she liked Anna, Abby's twin sister, a lot, so she was on the list. But what Kristy couldn't decide was whether to invite her old Baby-sitters Club friends. Not long after they'd started high school, Claudia and Stacey distanced themselves from the others, and gradually, everyone's interest in baby-sitting on a regular basis waned as they got involved with new activities and new friends. As the BSC grew apart as a unit, a few other individual friendships stayed intact, though. Mary Anne and Logan remained friends after they dated during the first part of high school, and Kristy and Shannon ran into each other around their neighborhood. Still, it wasn't the same as it had been in the BSC days. Plus, with Dawn, Mallory, and Jessi attending schools in other states, things had definitely changed.

It was Kristy's mom who suggested that she invite all of the original BSC members to the party. "You all have so much history, it seems a shame not to invite everyone to spend one last moment together before you go your separate ways. We're happy to have them if they'd like to come," Elizabeth said.

Back in the BSC days, Kristy had been as nostalgic as her other friends. Her mom's words struck a chord with her. The other original BSC members must have felt the same way. All nine of them showed up the afternoon of the party, Stacey in a sundress with Manolo Blahniks, and Claudia in what could only be considered a true Claudia creation—a dark blue fringed off-the-shoulder top with yellow short-shorts, red patent leather platform sandals, and a pink and purple headband she'd made herself, while Kristy wore a Stoneybrook Annual 10-K Run tee-shirt and jeans with her Converse high tops. Dawn arrived with hummus she'd made herself and some veggie burgers. Just like old times, Kristy thought to herself, and smiled.

Eventually, as the evening went on, guests began heading out. Some of them had other graduation parties to attend or were expected home for dinner. As the crowd thinned, the only guests that remained were the old BSC members and Anna.

"Hey, Abbers," Anna called out, as she approached Abby. "I think I'm headed home. I told Mom I'd watch a movie with her tonight. Are you coming?"

Abby looked at her watch, then at the familiar faces gathered around her. "Nah, I think I'll stay for a while longer. Tell Mom I'll be home before it gets too late, OK?"

Anna nodded and said her goodbyes. Looking around the group again, Abby realized it was the first time they'd been assembled as a group in. . . well, a long time. True, Dawn had come from California to attend the prom that year with Mary Anne, but it had been a while since some of them had seen Shannon, Mallory, and Jessi.

"So. . ." Abby said. "Looks like we're the only ones left."

"It's like old times!" Jessi exclaimed.

Kristy almost expected Claudia or Stacey to roll their eyes, but they didn't. In fact, they were the first ones to agree.

"Yeah!" Claudia said, a thoughtful look crossing her face.

"Wow, there are so many memories," Stacey said.

"Hey, I have an idea!" Kristy suddenly piped up.

"Oh, Kristy…" Mary Anne, Logan, and Mallory said, laughing.

They were all quiet as they considered their favorite, or in some cases, most meaningful, high school memory. Since they still had two years of high school to go, Mallory and Jessi didn't have as much to choose from, but they were eager to share their stories as well.

It took a while to figure out who would go first, but it was Abby who came up with the idea of going from oldest to youngest. "You just want to have more time to think of your memory, since your birthday's in October," Shannon teased.

"Nope, I'm just trying to be fair," Abby said as solemnly as she could manage.

"Well, I'd be first, right?" asked Logan. "My birthday's in January." Looking around, everyone nodded.

They all listened as Logan began his story.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2: LOGAN**

By MeanJanine

Of all the girls I dated in high school, and there were a lot, one stands out among the pack, and not for a good reason.

Jacqui Grant.

I'm eighteen years old, a high school graduate, and the only relationship I've had that actually counted as a real relationship was when I was thirteen. It's like I've grown up backwards. The serious relationship is supposed to be when you're older, not when you're thirteen.

Ever since then, it's just been one long list. Dori Wallingford, Sheila MacGregor, Andi Gentile, Erica Blumberg, Amanda Martin, Kathleen Lopez, Sheila again, Stacey McGill, Mari Drabek, Sue Archer, Corinne Baker, Sheila again, Grace Blume, Susan Taylor, Sheila yet again, and most recently, Mariah Shillaber.

Somewhere in the middle of what reads like I'm just picking girls at random out of the yearbook, there was Jacqui.

What I had with Jacqui is probably the one that least constitutes an actual relationship, and yet, she's still the most memorable of that list.

She's the one who, for one very nerve-wracking week junior year, believed that she was pregnant.

It was the third football game of what would later become our most losing season in ten years of SHS football. I was heading out of the locker room at halftime to go back to the field and there she was, going back to the sidelines with the rest of the cheerleaders.

"Are you checking out my pom-poms?" Jacqui asked me. She was leaning up against the chain-link fence that surrounded the field, her pom-poms held up suggestively in front of her chest.

I laughed. I knew what she was getting at; I'm not an idiot.

"Have been all night," I grinned, winking at her. Erica always giggled whenever I winked at her. "Maybe that's why we're losing, I'm too distracted."

"So, I heard you and Sheila are through," Jacqui said, lowering her pom-poms. I couldn't help but notice that the top to her cheerleading uniform was about a size smaller than what she should probably have been wearing. "She was complaining about you in the locker room. She said you're a total whore."

"Yeah, sounds like Sheila," I said, rolling my eyes. She'd called me a manwhore when we'd fought that previous week and broken up. Obviously my being a manwhore didn't bother her too much, since we ended up going to junior prom together, and also had that thing over Christmas break senior year.

"Sheila's a skank anyway," Jacqui informed me. "But she's a skank whose parents are out of town all weekend and who has an older brother who's getting a keg. She's having the whole team over tonight. I guess you knew 'cause you're on the team, or maybe she didn't want you there."

"I heard, just wasn't planning on going," I said. "I've got better things to do." Jacqui didn't have to know that the better things I had to do only consisted of going home and having Kerry and Hunter talk me into playing Dance Dance Revolution with them.

"You should come," Jacqui said, giving me a grin that I'd only seen on her face when she'd spent all of that past spring's baseball season sitting in the front row watching Austin Bentley. "We could go together. It'd totally piss her off."

"Tempting as that may be, the last thing I want to do is voluntarily be around Sheila," I laughed.

"Come on," Jacqui said, her voice going into that pouty tone as she took a few steps closer to me. "It's not like you'd have to sit there next to her all night or anything. It's a huge party, everyone's going. You probably won't even have to see her. Me and you can just hang together the whole night. She's got a hot tub."

I went to the party, and Jacqui and I began dating after that. We never gave ourselves the official boyfriend and girlfriend titles. I haven't done that title with too many girls, actually. We saw each other at school, went out after practices and games, and she was really fun. A lot better to hang out with than Sheila, at least.

Then one day, I got to school and saw her sitting in the parking lot on the hood of her Mustang convertible, smoking a cigarette. She threw the butt on the ground when she saw me coming. She knew I didn't like the smoking, so she tried not to do it around me.

"Hey," she said. "We need to talk."

I hated those words.

"Oh, yeah?" I asked flatly. "About what?"

"I'm late," she told me.

I looked at my watch. "There's ten minutes til homeroom," I said. "What are you talking about? Did y'all have a morning practice?"

Jacqui rolled her eyes. "I don't know, maybe we did," she said. "But that's not what I was talking about. I'm like a week late on my period."

"Ok…" I said slowly. I didn't want to hear period talk. It was bad enough seeing that pack of maxi things in the bathroom cabinet since Kerry got hers. "Um, I hope you get it soon?"

"It means I might be pregnant," Jacqui said in a quiet harsh voice, rolling her eyes yet again. "And before you say anything else, yes, it'd be yours. I'm not a slut."

"Wh-" I began, not sure what else to say. What do you say when someone tells you something like that? "So, uh, are you gonna do one of those tests then?"

"Guess I have to," Jacqui shrugged. "But seriously, everyone in this town knows my parents. If I buy a pregnancy test, they'll find out. So I need you to buy it."

"No way," I said, shaking my head. "I'm not gonna go in a store and buy. . . one of those."

"Come on," Jacqui said. "We need to find out and it's either that, or drive like, half an hour and buy one in another town and I don't have time for that. So can you buy it? Just go after school, before practice. I can take it here."

"Jacqui," I protested.

"You can buy other stuff with it, like a _Playboy_ or something, I'll give you the money," Jacqui said. "Then you're not the freak going in there just buying a pregnancy test. You need to know the answer just as much as I do anyway."

She looked at me, her eyes boring holes into mine, and then gave me that smile of hers.

"Fine," I sighed. "I'll skip study hall and go then." I knew at least if I was there during school and work hours, I wouldn't have much of a chance of running into anyone I knew.

"Fahn," Jacqui giggled, mimicking my accent.

I leaned forward and gave Jacqui a kiss. That smile of hers worked wonders on me. Amazing the things she could talk me into doing just by giving me the smile.

--

I spotted Jacqui waiting by the girls' bathroom in the freshman hallway, where she'd told me we could meet.

"Did you get it?" she asked me as her greeting.

"Hi to you too," I said. I was still feeling embarrassed about the fact that I was carrying a pregnancy test in my backpack, not that anyone knew anyway; it was just the principle of the matter. Plus I'd just had to shrug off Austin and Lew and come up with an excuse for why I hadn't been in study hall.

"Hi," Jacqui grinned at me. "So, did you get it?"

I put on a smile for her. "I got it," I said, taking the Rite-Aid bag out of my backpack and handing it to her.

"What are we going to do if this thing's positive?" she asked me as she looked at the box through the plastic bag. "I don't want a kid."

"We'll figure that out if it happens," I told her, swallowing a lump in my throat. If it was positive, I'd do whatever she wanted to do, I'd step up and take responsibility for what happened. I just was pretty sure I wasn't ready for the responsibility.

Those next three minutes, as she took the test and we waited on the results, are the three minutes of high school that will forever be cemented in my mind.

Also cemented in there will be the relief both of us felt when we saw that it was negative.

Jacqui and I broke up the next week. She was over at my house one evening, my parents and Hunter were at Kerry's soccer game (where I probably should've been) and we both just realized that since that day the previous week, things weren't the same with us. We just felt strange around each other. Fortunately, her and I have remained friends, which puts her on the short list of the exes I've remained friends with.

At the top of that list, number one in so many ways, is and always will be, Mary Anne Spier. Jacqui may hold my most memorable moment, but all together, Mary Anne holds the most memories for me.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3: DAWN**

By kumquatwriter

What is it about graduation that makes all the do-you-remembers come out? I guess it's natural. I mean, there you are, at the crossroads. Most people going on to college—I'm starting at UCLA in the fall—but it's a huge change, right?

I'm staying with Mom and Richard and Mary Anne for the summer. I've tried to visit as much as I could since I moved to California permanently, but it's been hard. Mary Anne still feels like we're as close as sisters—and we are, in a lot of ways. But it isn't the same as it used to be. Really, what is?

I've missed Stoneybrook, sure, but my life is so tied to California, I can never really leave. The best things that have ever happened to me happened there. Like my road trip. I always wanted to go off completely on my own for a while, but it's not the sort of thing Dad would be okay with. Especially since Jeff started getting in trouble last year. He's not a bad kid, but he acts up. And Grace (my baby sister) means that I have a regular sitting job again, just like the old days. And there's my boyfriend, and all my friends. . . well, around spring break of this last year it all was getting to me. I had to get away.

So, I somehow talked Dad into letting me go to Vegas with a bunch of my friends. I told him I'd be driving one of the cars (mine, of course. It's a hybrid, and it's my pride and joy. And my major burden—those payments are gonna kill me one of these days). All my friends and I took off together. . . and then I drove around the corner, dropped off everyone in my car (I still don't know how they fit everyone into the other three cars—they were packed already!), and hit the road. Just me and my stack of CDs and the open road.

I'd told my friends, the ones who were covering for me, that I was heading to Mexico. But I turned onto I-5 north and just kept going for a long time. I drove for days, hanging out the window, stopping in bars (with the fake I.D. I'd gotten on purpose for the trip), staying in hotels when I was tired. Really grungy, scary, hole-in-the-side-of-the-road no-tell-motels, just to test myself. Because I've always been kind of a scaredy-cat, as much as I try to hide it. New York City terrifies me to no end, and even parts of downtown Los Angeles practically give me hives. But somehow those gritty roadside inns didn't feel scary at all (even when I watched horror movies about axe murderers preying on single young blondes in roadside motels).

It was an amazing week. I just kept driving—stayed out of the major cities—until I got all the way to Mount Shasta and the northern border of California. I'd never been through the redwoods, and I spent a whole day just wandering around through them. And I never spent a dime on food—not when I'd stocked my entire trunk with food. I'm strictly vegan, organic as well, and even I am not so adventurous as to choke down god-knows-what. I had my cell phone, but I kept the ringer turned off and only used it enough to call once daily to let Dad know I was okay. I didn't even look at my messages beyond making sure nothing important had happened. I just drove and explored for three days straight. . . then turned around and slowly made my way home. I got home the day before school started again, and had a quick dinner with the gang to make sure I could tell stories about Vegas. I even grabbed a few tee-shirts and key chains from the pile they'd brought back, just so I could give out goodies. And to this day, nobody knows where I went or what I did. It's like a little secret I hold when I start to feel like I've got too much in my life. The memory of the open road, and knowing that I can do something like that just for me.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4: SHANNON**

By Penny Lane

Most high school students think about college during their junior year. For some students, it's something that they begin to thing about sophomore year. For those of us at Stoneybrook Day School, the prepping begins in elementary school. Not going to college is not an option for us.

The private school I attend, Stoneybrook Day, boasts a 98 percent rate of students who continue on to college. Ninety-six percent of those will attend a high ranked private university. The two percent who decided to take a year off? That's me.

It's well documented that I love school. School is my thing, and the wall of trophies, awards, and playbills with my name on them attests to that fact. I thrive when I have a hundred things to do. So why am I forgoing college?

It was two months into my sophomore year when my guidance counselor at Stoneybrook Day told me to take a step back and relax. I cried. It was my sophomore year, and I didn't want to look like a quitter.

I knew why she suggested making a list of all my extracurricular activities and deciding which ones would benefit me most in the future. Between my eight classes at Stoneybrook Day, I also was president of the astronomy club, treasurer of the French club, and a well known member of the drama club, and I had recently taken up tennis lessons. My private college coach suggested that I learn tennis or golf, as in the future it would be good for business networking.

My mom's "life coach" had suggested that I try some yoga to relax, so every Wednesday evening, my mother and I drove to Stamford for a yoga session. I wanted so hard to please everyone, and I genuinely liked every one of my activities. On Saturday afternoons, I volunteered at the homeless shelter.

I have two sisters, and I took every opportunity I had to attend Maria's swim meets, or to help Tiffany with her problems.

So what was I supposed to do? I couldn't quit any of my school obligations; there were too many people who needed me. I also really enjoyed being in the school plays, having everyone look at me. I also really liked the responsibility of leadership in French club and astronomy club. I enjoyed spending time with my mother, I needed the volunteering, and I couldn't say no to my sisters. So I did the only thing I could think of. I cried. I went home and told my mom what my guidance counselor had said, and she agreed that I was doing too much.

My parents, teachers, friends, and coaches all said that I looked tired. I was irritable all the time, but I assumed that was natural. The only person who agreed with me that there was nothing I could give up was the private college "coach" whom my mother had hired for me at the beginning of freshman year. He was supposed to help me choose what school would be best for me, and the best plan to get there. He wanted me to try for the physics department at MIT. Meanwhile, my mom wanted me to go to Sarah Lawrence and my dad was pushing for Harvard (as if we really needed another corporate lawyer in Stoneybrook).

And then I decided that if everyone wanted me to take some time off, I would.

The next day I skipped school for the first time in my life. Instead of getting out of bed, I tried not getting up when my alarm went off. I am responsible for getting myself to school, so no one even noticed. I waited for everyone in my family to leave, and then I went downstairs. I turned on the television and watched talk shows. I saw so many things I had never seen before that day. People getting paternity tests on television, people who stood up and shouted at each other over nothing. Finally, after an hour of flipping channels, I decided to go to the mall.

The mall is a completely different place during the day. Instead of teenagers and kids hanging out, people were bustling around, shopping and carrying bags and coffee and taking lunches. Everyone, that is, except the people in the record store. The kids in the record store were what my friends Meg and Greer would describe as "delinquents." There were people with facial piercings and visible tattoos, wearing ripped jeans safety pinned together, and tee-shirts with band logos printed on the front.

I loved it.

The guy behind the cash register came over to me the second I walked in the door.

"Can I help you find something? We don't carry boy bands here. You might want to try the Sam Goody instead." He was wearing a plain black tee-shirt, black jeans, and glasses. He was sort of cute, in a punk rock way.

"Who says I listen to boy bands?" I snapped back. "Can I look around?"

"Hey, sorry." He held his hands up in a gesture that plainly said "whatever" and backed away.

I flipped through records for a few minutes, aimlessly, wondering how I was supposed to act.

"Here, try this." The cashier held up a record of some band called The Clash.

"Oh, I don't think we even have a record player." The moment I said it, I cringed. What was I doing here?

He looked at me strangely, then said, "You should really get one. The sound of vinyl is so superior to that of mp3 or CD."

I tried not to laugh. This guy didn't look much older then 18, tops, and I was only guessing that because I do know about child labor laws. Yet, discussing sound quality was something very distinctive of my grandparents. They often discuss the superior sound of vinyl.

"Well, just for you then, I have this." He pulled out a backpack from under the cash register, fished around for a minute, and pulled out a CD. The Clash. "My name is Brian, by the way."

"I'm Shannon." I smiled at him. He seemed like a genuinely nice person, not at all delinquent-like.

"Shannon." He repeated my name. I rather liked how it sounded. "So what do you do, Shannon?"

"I'm in school." It wasn't a lie.

"Oh, Stoneybrook University?" Why not tell him the truth?

"Nope. Stoneybrook Day School." I watched him carefully, trying to gage the reaction.

"Oh, you are one of those kids. I went to SMS, until last year when I dropped out." He didn't sound upset about this at all.

At that, he slipped his headphones over my ears and played me music that I never heard before. It was loud and different, and I loved every second of it. When he asked me if I liked it, I told him the truth.

He laughed, and asked me out. Against my better judgment, I said yes.

I didn't give anything up. I continued on my path. But something was different. I made new friends at the record store, and I found that just listening to music gave me more energy. Brian helped with the tunes, and he was always willing to make time for me.

My parents were not pleased when I told them that I was going to backpack across Europe instead of going to college. I told them that college would still be there when I got back, and it would only be for one year. Despite their protests that I might never go back to school, I know that I will. But I have to do this. I have to take some time just for me.

Brian and I plan to go to Europe together in August. I'm so excited, because he showed me a world that I never even knew existed—the world outside of Stoneybrook, where people live in the moment. The world where people read books for fun and listen to politically charged rock music.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5: STACEY**

By Apologiesqueen

I still haven't stopped feeling guilty about what happened last year. Charlotte and I are close, but it's still not the same as it used to be.

Once the BSC split up as a club, I was Charlotte Johanssen's primary baby-sitter. We were as close as ever, and I loved having her look up to me and hearing about what she was doing in school. As I got more involved with my activities in high school (and my various boyfriends), though, I wasn't always able to sit for Charlotte, especially during the past couple of years.

As I got busier, a new girl started at SMS. Amy's family had just moved from Maryland, and Charlotte, Becca Ramsey, and Vanessa Pike became fast friends with her. Like Charlotte, Amy was shy, and all of the girls loved to read and were close to their families. Even though Charlotte was the only one of them without a "real" older sister, she still felt like she shared something with the other girls since we'd been calling each other "almost sisters" for years. Charlotte was almost too old to need a sitter, but Marissa, Amy's 18-year-old sister, often let the girls tag along with her.

Amy adored Marissa, and the more time Charlotte spent with her and Amy, the more Charlotte did as well. Marissa had a loud, quick laugh and tons of friends. She also had the shiniest, waviest brown hair Charlotte had ever seen.

When I did try to spend time with Charlotte, it wasn't unusual for her to be spending time with her own friends. As we devoted more and more time to other things—and unintentionally drifted further apart—a few months went by where we didn't see each other. We e-mailed now and then, and Dr. Johanssen asked after me once when she ran into my mom at the grocery store, but we couldn't seem to meet up. I missed Charlotte but figured we'd catch up at some point soon at our favorite coffee shop downtown.

--

The next time I saw Charlotte, the setting was a long way away from two "almost sisters" catching up and updating each other on the latest gossip over hot drinks. Instead, I visited her in the hospital.

Marissa, it turned out, wasn't the perfect role model Charlotte, and even Amy, thought she was. One night, Marissa and some friends from Stoneybrook Community College invited Amy and Charlotte to a concert with them. After the concert, Marissa would bring the younger girls to her and Amy's house for a sleepover while she hung out with her own friends in another part of the house.

Excited about the concert and spending time with her second older "almost sister," Charlotte chatted animatedly with Amy in the backseat. Meanwhile, Marissa drove, and her friend Erin sat up front and complained about their economics professor.

"That midterm's gonna be awful," Marissa said, frowning. "For now, though, I'll just forget about it and have a fun night."

"Good for you, Mar," Amy encouraged her sister. "You deserve to have some fun."

"Exactly right!" Marissa exclaimed, reaching into her purse at a stoplight and pulling out a bottle of Sprite. She took a long sip and passed it to Erin, who did the same thing.

"I'd share with you girls, but well, I think you're a bit young," Marissa said, giggling.

Charlotte and Amy looked at each other. Erin turned around in her seat to face them.

"She means she put vodka in it. It's not Sprite."

"Oh, my God, Marissa," Amy said.

"Relax! Mom and Dad won't know. Our friend Matt's 21. He bought it for us. We drank the rest of it before we left the house," Marissa informed her sister. "Plus, I only had one beer before this. It's not a big deal." Marissa increased her speed.

Charlotte and Amy looked at each other again. Marissa frowned at them in the rearview mirror. "You better not—" she began, but she was interrupted by the sound of her car crashing against the one in front of her.

The impact sent Charlotte into her passenger side door. She heard her arm make a noise unlike any she had heard before. Amy cried out in pain.

Charlotte was in so much pain herself that she didn't know how long it took for an ambulance to arrive, or how it got there. At the time, she didn't remember hearing what would happen to Marissa.

--

Charlotte told me all of this after it happened, of course. Her dad called Mom and me from the hospital, figuring we'd want to know. We rushed right over once she was able to have visitors.

She was sitting up in bed, and she blinked groggily when she saw us. In addition to the cast on her arm, she also sported some bumps and bruises on her forehead and cheek. Amy, it turned out, had had a concussion, but she'd be fine, too. Erin's right wrist and two of her ribs were broken, while Marissa was in a coma. She would wake up a week later to find that she would spend several days in jail, her license had been suspended for a year, and that she would need to perform a to-be-determined number of hours of community service. A possible punishment for Erin was still being considered.

"Hi, Stacey," Charlotte said weakly. "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

"I know. I'm sorry about that," I replied. Everything had happened so fast that all of a sudden, it hit me how guilty I felt. I bit my lip. "How are you feeling?"

Charlotte made room for me on the edge of her bed. Mom sat in the visitor's chair.

"OK," she said. "The doctor said it could have been worse. At least we were wearing our seat belts. And luckily, everyone in the other car came away with only minor bumps and bruises."

I reached for her free hand.

"I-I'm really sorry this happened, you know," I said awkwardly. "I feel like. . . if I'd been there more for you, you wouldn't have. . . "

"Started hanging out so much with Amy and her sister?" Charlotte asked softly.

I nodded.

"Maybe not," Charlotte said slowly. "I guess I don't know. I do know that no one could replace you, though, Stacey."

I smiled, but tears had already begun forming in my eyes.

"I bet Amy's taking this pretty hard," I said sympathetically. "It sounds like she really looked up to her big sister."

"Yeah," Charlotte responded. She looked down. "Maybe once I'm out of the hospital, we can hang out again."

"Definitely," I promised.

--

I did keep my promise, but sometimes Charlotte and I both have to make an extra effort to schedule "sister" time after not having any real time together for a while. And sometimes I think Charlotte has a hard time opening up to me—even though we've known each other for what feels like ages, I think she's nervous after her experience with Marissa that people aren't what they seem.

But we're getting there. We may not be "real sisters," but being "almost sisters" gives us a bond that a lot of other people don't necessarily understand. I've already started planning activities to do with Charlotte when she visits me in the fall at NYU. Even though college will keep me busy and Charlotte will be in high school before I know it, I'll never forget my "little sister."


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6: CLAUDIA**

By ladyrishikesh

"You had to repeat seventh grade?"

I'll never forget how embarrassed I was when Noah found out about my less-than-stellar academic past. I was in eleventh grade, and he was a freshman in art college. He was SO cool. He dressed in all black and always wore these sunglasses that obscured his eyes. His type of art was different from mine. His idea of creativity involved splattering a bunch of neon paint on a poster board and painstakingly smudging it to create abstract forms. I would rather draw or paint what I see. I guess I've always been like that.

I met Noah at an open mic night one weekend. My best friend Ashley Wyeth, in addition to being an awesome artist, had also begun playing acoustic guitar. I had tagged along to support her. It wasn't a big favor or anything: after all, this was such a neat atmosphere. So many creative people were hanging around, sipping coffee and listening to music! I hadn't been around so many people with common interests since my days in the Baby-sitters Club. While a sophomore was playing a cover of a Pink Floyd song, I saw a tall, dark-haired guy leaning against the espresso counter. I'm no stranger to dating, and I knew that by the end of the night I would be (at least!) exchanging my phone number with this hottie.

As I'm sure you can imagine, I did. I didn't expect things to move so fast, but before I knew it we were casually dating and seeing each other a few times a week. It was a little intimidating, being around Noah. He was intelligent, well read, and way more sophisticated than anyone I'd ever met (and that's saying a lot—my old BFF, Stacey McGill, was from New York City!). I would often find myself poring over the contents of my closet before our dates in order to find something unique enough to impress Noah. On the night he discovered how dumb I am in school, I had selected a soft black sweater, shiny black tights, high-waisted red shorts and suspenders, and a jaunty red beret. I knew I looked "art school," and I hoped that Noah would think so too. He must have, because soon we were kissing in his Mini Cooper.

"How many people have you dated?" he asked me, out of the blue.

I had to think about it. "Well, I've dated several in the past couple of years. A few in eighth grade, too. In seventh grade, I dated one or two guys. The first time through, anyway." It was a stupid slip-up. All my friends knew about my past, and so I usually talked freely about it with them. But Noah had no clue how much I struggle. If he knew, I would lose so many points in his eyes. I could feel it.

"You had to repeat seventh grade?" he asked me.

I felt my heart starting to race in my chest. He tilted his dark sunglasses down his nose so I could see his blue eyes.

"Why?" he asked.

"Idon'tdowellatschool," I mumbled.

"Oh," he said. He leaned back in his seat. This was it. He was never going to touch me, or let me see any of his artwork again. I wasn't sure which was worse.

"I'm sorry," I blubbered. I felt like I was going to cry.

"About what?" he asked. "Who cares? It's just school."

"But you're so smart," I pointed out.

"So are you," he said. "School's a joke most of the time."

"But you spend so much time doing schoolwork," I said. I couldn't stop arguing. I wanted to, but I couldn't.

"Yeah," he said. "I have to. I would flunk out of art school." He shrugged. "It's no big deal. I never sleep, so it gives me time to study, do my art, and whatever else I want to do."

"You never sleep?" I asked. "How do you manage that?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little box. He opened it up. Inside was a pile of tiny white pills. "Take one of these. You'll be up for two days, no questions asked."

I was a little unsure, but the way he was looking at me, like he still wanted to kiss me even though I'm an idiot, was enough to convince me. I picked up a pill and gulped it down. He grinned. We made out for another hour.

That night I cleaned my entire room, completed three new paintings, started a new sketch, and even had time to do my British lit homework. Still going strong at 7 am, I changed my outfit and gulped down a few Snickers bars before running out the door to school. I have no idea why it seemed like such a good idea to leave my junker of a car behind and jog to school, but I did it. I got there in less than ten minutes. That whole day was nothing but a jacked-up, fast-paced blur.

That was the first time I did speed. I continued taking it a few times a week for the next six months. Even when Noah dumped me a month later, I continued hunting down speed from other art students who needed an extra boost to do well in school. My grades went up. I had more time to see my friends. I completed painting after painting. It seemed like a miracle. I was suddenly motivated to do everything. I had energy, and I had the time. My parents thought I was turning into Janine. They were so proud of me.

One day, I was starting to feel a little sick. I had been regularly taking speed for almost half a year. I was sitting in study hall, the one class I had with my former best friend, Stacey McGill. I'm not sure why we stopped being friends. There were no hard feelings, or anything like that. We just drifted apart. We have some of the same friends, and we see each other at parties sometimes. We say "hi" in the halls. That's about it. As I was sitting in study hall, drawing frantically across the cover of my notebook, I could hear my heart beating. It felt like it was beating out of my chest, up my throat, and out of my mouth. I could feel my face getting hot and my palms getting sweaty. I tried to remember how many pills I had taken in the past day. I counted up to three before falling out of my chair and hitting the floor.

I woke up in the nurse's office. Stacey was sitting beside me. I could barely open my eyes, but I could hear Stacey's voice as she spoke to the nurse and our study hall monitor. "I think it's just a fever," she said. "She should probably have something to eat. I'll take her home."

She didn't say anything to me as she guided me out of the school and into her car. It wasn't until we were half a mile down the road that she said something. "I know you're high, Claudia," she said. She had covered for me, I realized. She didn't say it in a mean way, or in a judgmental way. It was very matter-of-fact.

She took me home and gave me some water. She cooked me some Ramen noodles and helped me into my bed. She told me to call her if I needed anything. I fell asleep and didn't wake up until that evening. When I did, I walked over to my desk and saw the number for a drug rehabilitation group. Beneath it, Stacey had written "I know we're not best friends anymore, but I still care."

I called the number. I've been off speed for a little over a year now, and I have Stacey to thank. No one ever found out—not my parents, not my teachers, not Janine, not even my good friends. It was a secret I kept, and a secret Stacey kept for me. I still struggle at school, and I don't produce artwork as fast as I could. But I can function, and I'm healthy. I could have died that day in school. I probably would have, if someone hadn't been there for me.

It's funny that my best high school memory involves a girl that I hardly talked to throughout my entire 9th–12th grade career. But it taught me something important: no matter how many things change in your life, no matter how much distance grows between you and someone you care about, when it comes down to it, true friends are always there when you need them. No matter the circumstance. Even if you're trying to impress a guy who you thought was more sophisticated than said friend. I guess now I'm starting to understand that Stacey's subtle help was much more impressive than some art snob handing out pills to teenage girls.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7: KRISTY**

By lilysela

I remember the first time I noticed her in a different way. We'd been friends for three years, just plain friends though. She was the only friend I still had from the Baby-sitters Club, with the exception of Mary Anne from time to time. But it wasn't the same between Mary Anne and me; she had boys and Dawn and non-BSC friends.

And I had Abby.

She made my heart stop and suddenly jump forward, struggling to beat in triple time. It was poignant, like something out of a movie or a romance novel that would only interest Mary Anne.

Sometimes when she looked at me I'd feel my cheeks burning up. I'd blush (Kristy Thomas blushing, I know!). I was suddenly nervous and unsure around someone I'd felt so comfortable around for so long.

This wasn't like my crush on Janine Kishi. Or Lisa Engle. It was different. It was real and obtainable.

All that pseudo-flirting was doing my head in. She'd offer to practice pitching softballs with me and I'd offer to kick balls her way as she practiced being goalie. She'd smile that smile that made me melt. "Kristy Thomas, Girl Wonder!" She'd say. Or she'd tell a horribly clichéd joke. And I'd laugh, even though it wasn't funny.

One day we were lying on the floor of her bedroom. We were in the same English class so for the past semester studying together, twice a week, on Abby's bedroom floor was a ritual. And then she'd whip out a bag of marshmallows from nowhere claiming, "It's brain food Kristy! We need it." And to be honest, it reminded me of our old BSC meetings at Claudia's and something inside of me missed that. A lot.

I was lying on the floor, daydreaming. English was boring and I couldn't concentrate with my heart beating so fast around Abby. Then I felt it. Her lips against mine. Shock kept me from saying anything, from moving. It was as if she'd read my mind.

"Kristy." She mumbled against my lips.

"Yeah?" I gulped.

"Kiss me back." She said. Her voice as breathless as I felt.

So I did. And at the time, those twenty seconds felt like the best thing that had ever happened to me. But then reality set in.

"Abby!" I sat up, pushing her away. "Your mother, y-y-your sister. Downstairs."

"Shh," Abby pressed a finger to my lips.. "Don't talk. It ruins the mood." Then I felt her kiss me again.

I pulled away again. "Abby, what are you doing?" I asked. The expression on her face mirrored mine.

"I thought this was what you wanted?"

"It is. I mean it was." _But now that it's actually happening it doesn't feel so right anymore._

"I better go," I said. And without even saying goodbye, I left Abby there on the floor, the look of confusion on her face unchanged.

--

I tried avoiding her for a while. Purposely walking the other way when I walked Shannon and avoiding her stare in the hallways of SHS. But then there would be a day where I'd be too busy to baby-sit Karen and Andrew and Watson would say something along the lines of, "I wonder if Abby's free. . . "

There were only so many things I could say - Abby had gone to watch Anna perform, or she was already baby-sitting for the Papadakis', before the excuses started to run out and it started to look obvious that the real reason Abby couldn't baby-sit was me.

"Kristy." My mom called after me as I was about to leave for school one morning. "What's going on between you and Abby?"

"Nothing!" _Does she know? Does anyone know? Maybe she really can see it in my face._ "I mean, we're just both really busy and. . . "

"But she's your best friend, honey!" She cut me off. "You've been through so much together and she really is a great girl. Whatever's happened, I really think you two should try and patch it up."

I almost expected her to come out with something as cheesy as "boys come and go, but friends are forever." Luckily, she didn't.

I sighed. "Okay, Mom, I really will try. But like I said, we've got pretty busy schedules nowadays."

"Kristy." She cut me off again, then raised her eyebrows and tapped her watch. I grabbed her wrist and looked at the time.

"Oh shit, school! I'm going to be late." Quickly I grabbed my bag off the floor, said goodbye to my mom, and raced out the door. Looking around the front yard, Sam had already left. _Damn him._ I was about to go back inside and ask Mom if she'd give me a lift when Mrs. Stevenson's car pulled up at the curb.

I heard someone call my name and turned to see Abby hanging halfway out the back window. "C'mon, Girl Wonder!" She called.

I ran over as she opened the back door and slid over a seat, leaving room for me. I flung my bag onto the middle seat and climbed in.

"Hi Anna, Mrs. Stevenson. . . God, thank you so much! You really saved my life this morning."

"Don't mention it." Mrs. Stevenson smiled at me through the rearview mirror.

I felt Abby slip her hand into mine behind my school bag. I gulped, hoping she wouldn't go any further than that in the car with her mother and sister. Luckily she didn't.

As we walked into school together, I told her I'd like to talk to her later on.

"Okay," she nodded. "Meet me over there on your study period." She glanced over toward a group of picnic tables; she knew we both had the same study period.

"Sounds good. See ya later!" I quickly walked off. Any longer I spent standing next to her, I might have done something I'd regret later.

--

As my study period drew closer and closer, I felt the tension and nervousness building up inside me. It was a relief to see Abby already sitting at the tables when I got there. I was never good at waiting.

"Are we? Are you. . . ?" Abby's words trailed off.

"I don't know." I said, sitting down and holding my head in my hands.. Just a few months ago, I'd felt so sure of myself, but now I was so utterly confused.

"There's no denying our chemistry! It's electric." Abby said, a clear tone of joke and amusement in her voice.

I didn't say anything. What was there to say, anyway?

"We could always just be friends with benefits?" Abby laughed. I guess she felt a need to break the tension. It didn't work. "I'm sorry, Kristy." Abby suddenly turned serious for once in her life. "I didn't mean to make this happen."

"It's not your fault; it would have happened sooner or later."

Abby nodded in agreement. "So, we can just go back to being friends?"

"I hope so." _But a huge part of me wants more than that._

--

I think Abby thought it was just a schoolgirl crush. I know she did. At first I tried to as well. I folded it up and shoved it away until it was a part of me so small I almost forgot about it.

We're friends again now. It's hard not to be when we live on the same street and have so much in common. Our friendship isn't the same, though. I don't think it ever will be. Maybe one day we'll act on our feelings again, maybe not. Either way, I know my life will never be the same.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8: MARY ANNE**

By liz.wis

When I was a little girl, I loved to dream about my prom night. . . a handsome date (assuming Dad would ever let me date, that is) and a gorgeous gown, a night of elegance and romance. A night to never forget. And it certainly was.

I could hear my stepsister in the next room packing away her clothes—enough for a whole summer. Dawn had flown in from California for my graduation ceremony— she herself had graduated just a week earlier, and hadn't had time to settle in yet—in fact, Sharon drove her straight from the airport to SHS, to meet me and Dad, who was pacing nervously and checking his watch. Some things never change.

We were as close as two sisters could be with the whole span of the country between us. I pulled out my photo album, remembering Dawn hadn't yet seen my prom photos. . . and I had plenty! In fact, the last time I saw her was three months ago, the day after, getting on the plane, her blue eyes covered behind big black sunglasses, hiding the evidence of a hangover from the after-party. She told Sharon and Dad it was still jetlag from her flight in three days earlier. They bought it.

I flipped through the pages as I had many times before over the last few months.

The classic posed "Daddy and daughter" photo: Dad looking stiff and solemn, me laughing at something Dawn was saying in the background. I wasn't wearing the puffy princess meringue fantasy of my childhood; instead, I wore a red strapless bodice with a low back and silky skirt, with a split up the side, enough to show some leg, not so much that Dad would have a coronary.

Dawn and I posed in front of the entrance to our barn/house, in which I'd lived since the summer of 8th grade, after our old farm house burned down. After living there for five years, it was now just "home," and not "our old barn," as I used to refer to it after first moving in after it was renovated.

The next block of photos had the backdrop of the sprawling Thomas-Brewer mansion. Kristy thought it might be fun if she and Abby and Dawn and I went together, for old-times sake. Kristy and I were still friends, not the BFFs as we once were until the age of thirteen—new interests in high school had caught up with us, and you could not deny the huge difference in personality between us. Although I was no longer meek-Mary Anne, I was still a different end of the spectrum to loud, outspoken Kristy and wacky Abby. We still made time for each other, as tough as it was with our busy schedules—Kristy filling her afternoons with sports, sports, and more sports, and me tied up with the school newspaper.

I skimmed a few pages of photos of photos taken by Kristy of Abby wildly posing around her prized vehicle, and paused and smiled at the photos of my date and me.

Logan Bruno.

Like I'd always dreamed, I was taking one of the most gorgeous guys at SHS to prom. He always blushed when I said that, but I said it was my right as his best friend. After breaking up before the end of 8th grade, awkwardly avoiding each other through 9th grade and half of 10th, we were thrown together again when I was the only person around to fill in for sports writer when Rick Chow had to rush home for a family emergency only five minutes before one of the biggest games of the school's football calendar, which SHS actually had a chance of winning.

Although I was very competent at covering the academic and social news of the school, I didn't know a touchdown from a home run (is that even the same sport?), and even though I wasn't much of a crier anymore, Logan found me semi-hysterical outside the SHS fields, having no idea how I would meet the deadline the next day. Even though the team had finally won, he opted out of the celebrations and invited me back to the Brunos' to help me piece the story together. We realized we still enjoyed each other's company, and it was different, and nice, to spend time together as friends.

When I found out my long-distance boyfriend Alex, was unable to come to prom with me, I was devastated. I couldn't believe that of all weekends, this was the one the scout from Columbia University would be present at his baseball game. With my excellent grades, and college fund Dad had set aside for me (one huge benefit of his long and exhausting hours at the law firm), I had an excellent chance of acceptance. Alex was hoping to get in on a sports scholarship.

The first year we were together was the toughest. A year of phone calls, e-mail, IM, and a sneaky trip to NYC with Stacey when his family was staying there, and of course, memories of the summer in Sea City. The next year, he had his driver's license, and could make the three-hour drive up here monthly.

Even so, we couldn't wait to go to college together, and even better, live in the same city! It was Alex who suggested that I take Logan to prom. After a fair bit of hostility between the boys after our first summer together, Alex had decided Logan wasn't trying to get in my pants and we were just friends, Logan had decided that Alex wasn't trying to get in my pants and was a nice guy, and they proceeded to bond over sports (what else!).

The next photos were various group shots taken at our group table. I loved the one that captured the moment of Stacey about to go off at the waiter for bringing her some sickly sweet dessert, and then realizing he was definitely her type (moderately-to-highly attractive, and male), and suddenly flicking the switch to charming and sophisticated. At the end of 9th grade, I definitely wouldn't have thought Stacey and I would be sharing a table (or even a conversation) in senior year. From very early in freshman year, she decided she wanted no part of the BSC except for maybe Claudia, and ignored the rest of us almost completely.

Our friendship resumed over the summer between 9th and 10th grade. The Pikes were taking their annual vacation to Sea City, and invited both of us along as parents' helpers. I accepted because I had nothing else planned, with Kristy spending most of her time with Abby, and Dawn deciding to spend the summer with her dad, Carol, Jeff, and her adorable new half-sister Grace. Stacey accepted because she was no longer doing any regular baby-sitting and needed the cash, and of course the chance to perve at lifeguards. This was the same summer that I realized Alex and I were more than a beach-holiday fling.

I laughed as I flipped through the pictures of Alan Gray doing the M&M trick (yet again), Pete Black not-so-subtly checking out Dawn, Kristy dancing with none other than Cary Retlin (I never did ask her what that was about), Abby hitching up her dress and kicking around a table centerpiece like a soccer ball, Emily Bernstein, my newspaper-buddy, looking far more glamorous than I'd ever seen her, and Logan, dancing with every girl at our table, with the exception of Stacey, with whom he shared some history he did not wish to repeat.

This is the point in the evening I remember most clearly. Someone else must have grabbed the camera when I put it down on the table, because the next picture is of me, jumping up and shrieking, when I first see Alex entering the hall. Then Alex picking me up and swinging around, with me nearly losing my shoe and sending it flying across the room (an accident from the past which I didn't want to see repeated).

"_Mary Anne, I know how important this evening was to you, and I wanted to be part of that." _

"_But Alex, what about your game?"_

"_There'll be other games. Other opportunities. I played the first two innings, made one great hit, and then completely lost focus. My heart just wasn't in it."_

The final photo, Alex and me, arms wrapped around each other in a kiss.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9: ABBY**

By oneoneohohone

Stories of love, laughter, heartache, all of that is well and good. Me? My favorite part of high school involved none of that. Mine involved work.

Baby-sitting can pay off.

Even after I left the club, I continued to baby-sit. Mostly just around my neighborhood, where the rich folk tended to kick down more money. Not that everyone in Stoneybrook isn't rich compared to, say, New Orleans, but you get what I mean. I kept it up, even going to a MORE ritzy neighborhood and sitting for that little brat Amanda Delaney and her stupid four hundred dollar cat. Previously, I had only heard about the Delaneys in fabled song and story, and quite enjoyed their replacements, the Kormans. The cat got out once while I was sitting, and Amanda cried. I can't say I didn't smile a bit. Not to her face, of course.

The stupid cat came back.

Anyway. I sat and sat, until finally, the day came. You see, I told my mother before I ever turned sixteen that I did not want her to buy me a car—I wanted to buy my own. She could get Anna, my twin, a nice car. Leave me out of it. Abby fends for herself. I wanted to offend the neighborhood as much as possible—sure, Charlie Thomas did it with the Junk Bucket, and Sam continued its legacy, but I wanted something truly horrible that I could call my own. I would have loved a gaudy pink Cadillac, Elvis Presley revisited, but I didn't want to look like I was copying Kristy's grandma. I offered to buy the Pink Clinker off of Nannie, but she would not give it up for five hundred dollars.

Yes, five hundred. I was determined my car cost more than Amanda's cat. Four months after my sixteenth birthday, I accrued five hundred dollars, all on my own. On my sixteenth birthday, I got my permit, and four months later on a Friday, I took my driver's test and passed. I was a licensed driver. The very next day, I scoured the local newspaper and hit paydirt—a 1983 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. It sounded right, and after I Googled it for pictures, I knew it was the car meant for me. 500 as-is. Mom drove me over to the guy's house, I forked over the cash, and became the proud owner of that boat of a car. It purred like a kitten. Or maybe a lion. Perhaps a giraffe. Something in the wild kingdom, for sure.

Before I drove the car away from its old home, I popped an Elvis tape into the player. I had inquired as to what sort of media the stereo supported over the phone, and was almost disappointed that it didn't have eight-track, but a tape player would do. I had a few Elvis tapes I'd bought at a yard sale. His crooning filled the car—"Love Me Tender"—and I sighed happily, taking my boat of a car out of park.

"Oh, I'll love you, my. . ."

I paused.

"My. . . "

Huh. The car needed a name. But what?

I drove down the street, contemplating. What do you call a car this old? This big? This wonderful?

I found myself at the local auto parts store. Accessories. My car needs them. "Fuzzy dice and a shag steering wheel cover, stat!" I shouted as I hopped out of my new car. A woman exiting the store gave me a funny look. I kissed my fingers and pressed them on the black hood. The rest of the car was white. "I'll be back, my love."

I entered the store with a shiver of excitement. Finally. How I had longed to purchase pine tree shaped air-fresheners, a cup holder that stuck in the window. And now it was finally here. I stood on the accessories aisle, nearly salivating. I decided to start from the ground up, with floor mats. But should I get bright red Hawaiian print, or Tweety Bird? I looked longingly at the matching seat covers. My seat was bench-style, a cover would never fit it. And what about steering wheel covers, dice, dashboard covers, CD holders? Wait, I don't have a CD player, scratch that.

"Okay, Abby." I muttered to myself. "It's time to get serious. What would Elvis do?"

I looked back and forth between Tweety and Red Hawaiian, then slapped my own forehead. Duh, of course.

Elvis? Hawaii? Hand in hand. Plus, the time I went to Hawaii, I totally came back red. It was meant to be.

I grabbed every Red Hawaiian accessory the store carried, save for seat covers and CD cases. It was gaudy, and it clashed with the blue interior of the car. It was perfect. I paid for it all, and installed everything right there in the parking lot.

As I drove home, I wondered if it would be possible to get an Elvis song as my horn. I've seen the cars that play "La Cucaracha," so I know it's possible. I decided I would Google it that night.

When I arrived back in Mansionville, I drove down the street with my non-Elvis horn blaring. Some old stuffy lady that lives down the street from me looked disgusted. So did a lot of other rich people. Linny Papadakis pumped his fist in the air and cheered. I rolled to a stop in front of the Thomas-Brewer house, where Kristy and Andrew were in the front yard playing with Shannon the dog. Kristy immediately came running up to the car.

"Oh, my LORD! Abby, it's hideous!" She shouted gleefully, leaning in the window.

"It offended Amanda Delaney. It's already paying off. Hop in!" I replied, flipping the power lock. Yes, power windows and locks, the lap of luxury.

Kristy looked back at Andrew. "You'll be okay?"

"I'm _seven_, Kristy." Andrew reminded her.

"Okay, sorry, sorry." She bound around the car and jumped in the passenger seat. "Where are we going?"

"To get Mary Anne." I replied, glancing at my watch. Plenty of time.

"And then?"

"Hush." I said, turning up the Elvis.

We arrived at Mary Anne's house in a much calmer fashion. Richard Spier can be a hard-ass, and I wanted Mary Anne to be able to go.

"Go where?" She asked as she climbed into the huge backseat.

"New York." I replied smoothly as I eased my car away from the curb.

"What?!" Mary Anne shrieked. "Abby, we can't go to the city without permission, my dad-"

"Your dad won't know. Come on, I'm the first one of us with a license, and I'm taking us to New York. Please?"

Kristy merely shrugged. "Can we eat first?"

"What if we get car jacked?" Mary Anne fretted.

I looked back at her. "Mary Anne, don't be a—"

"Will you watch the road?" She replied, sounding terrified. Mary Anne doesn't have her license yet. She says she's not comfortable enough.

I turned back around with a sigh. Then looked at Kristy. "So, lunch?"

"I'm starved."

"You're always starved. Rosebud?"

She grinned. I know what she likes.

We got to the Rosebud in no time. Amazing how far it seemed on a bike! As we got out of the car, Mary Anne glanced at the sky suspiciously. "It looks like it might snow."

I scoffed. "Mary Anne. It hasn't snowed in weeks. God would not do that to me." Plus I forgot to buy chains at the auto-parts store.

"Just saying." She said with a shrug, heading inside.

I glanced at the sky. It _did_ look kind of gross. . . but we were going to New York. It would not snow.

We got inside and ordered burgers and Cokes all around. Mary Anne never missed an opportunity to eat a greasy hunk of cow, living with that stepmother of hers. Kristy and I just happen to enjoy many, many greasy hunks of cow, long and often. We gabbed over our food, Kristy with her mouth full, me glancing out the window now and then. That was _NOT_ a snowflake.

When we trooped back outside Mary Anne caught a flake in her hand. "_Abby,_" she said warningly.

"Jeez, Mary Anne, you sound like your dad." Kristy replied.

Mary Anne opened her mouth. Then shut it. She kept it shut and got in the car. Kristy grinned at me. Works every time.

When we got in the car, Kristy put on WSTO. I didn't argue. She wanted road conditions, I knew it. I headed for the highway anyway. God will not do this to me. I am taking a road trip my first day in the car.

The snow began to come down heavier before we got out of Stoneybrook. I turned on the heater, and the car began shuddering. "Yick." I said.

"What?" asked Worrywart from the back seat.

"Nothing. She's just not used to the cold." I replied airily, merging onto the highway.

The snow began to come down harder. Traffic was literally crawling. I couldn't even register on the speedometer. Oh, poor, nameless car. I wanted so bad to give her a good time. . .

Fifteen minutes later, we were five miles southeast of Stoneybrook.

"Think we'll be there by tomorrow, Abbers?" Kristy asked, not particularly sarcastic.

I didn't answer. At this point I was gripping the wheel, concentrating. I've driven in snow before, but not on the highway. And not this agonizingly slow.

"I think we should turn around."

I turned to look at her. "Mary Anne, nobody else is turning around. Look at all these—"

"ABBY!" Kristy shouted.

Crap. I wasn't watching to road. I turned back to the front, just in time to see that a car was totally stopped about fifty feet in front of me. There was a tow truck backing up to it. I gasped, hit the brakes, and began to slide. Mary Anne shrieked. Kristy just looked wide eyed. I said a little prayer and yanked the wheel to the right, toward the shoulder, away from the stopped car. I felt myself lose control, and the car began to turn. Now Mary Anne was _screaming. _I closed my eyes, and braced for a crash.

After what felt like hours, the car came to a stop. I sat there, just sat there, breathing hard, gripping the wheel, not opening my eyes. Did I kill us? Did I kill anyone?'

And then, Kristy began to laugh.

I opened my eyes, and almost had a heart attack. Cars were coming _toward_ us. Then I realized what had happened. We'd done a one-eighty. We were facing the wrong way. I turned and looked behind us. Mary Anne was lying down in the backseat, covering her head. The car that had been stopped in front of us was now about three feet away from my back bumper. The tow truck driver, dressed in safety orange, was running toward us.

"Mary Anne, it's okay. We're fine." I said, putting the still-running car into park.

She grunted form the backseat, but still did not uncover her head.

Kristy was still laughing as she put down her window. "I - I have my camera! I have GOT to get a picture. . . "

The tow truck driver leaned in the window. "Are you girls okay?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Kristy was still giggling.

"Yes, we're fine!" I said with a grin. "That guy came out of nowhere!"

"Yeah, I'll bet." The driver said with a smirk. "I don't think there are any cops around, but I'll stop traffic in the next lane for a minute so you can get turned around. Can you handle that?"

"Yeah, I think I can." I replied, grinning at him.

He nodded. "Drive careful." He looked around. "Pimp car."

"Thanks!" I exclaimed as he trotted away, holding up an arm to stop traffic.

"Can we go home now?" Mary Anne asked, her voice still muffled.

"No way! This car is Pimptastic!" I cried, slowly performing a three point turn. Apparently the DMV isn't completely useless. "Bombastic Pimptastic!"

"You're insane." Kristy said from behind her digital camera, still snapping pictures. Insane, sminshane. My car had a name!

Pimpy, for short.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10: MALLORY**

By EditorNia

Last year, when I was 14, I fell down a cliff, and then fell in love. That sounds kinda weird, doesn't it? Let me start from the beginning, and tell you how it happened. See, I was camping with my global studies class—we were studying ecology—at Riverbend (I've been camping—proper camping, with tents and packs and stuff—before, and I just love it!), in a hilly area of Massachusetts, and we were kinda spread out, each of us looking for specific animals and plants. Of course I wasn't really watching where I was going—and I fell! There was this small cliff, and I'd wandered to the edge of it, and fallen right off! No safety lines, no crash helmets, no carabineers, nothing!

I'm pretty sure I hit my head when I fell, 'cause the next thing I knew, I was aching all over, and this cute guy was standing over me, asking if I was all right. Well, of course I wasn't all right! What a stupid thing to ask! I was so sore I could barely move, my mouth was dry, my heart was pounding about a thousand times a minute, and my brain couldn't seem to get my mouth to form words. Maybe I'd hit my head harder than I thought?

Cute guy said his name was Ezra, and he'd be back in a little while—he was going off to get me some help. He was leaving! I tried to get him to not leave, but the words 'don't go!' got all tangled up between my brain and my mouth—all that came out was some weird garbled noise.

Anyway, Ezra realized somehow that I didn't want to be alone right then, so he stayed with me for a while more. That part's still a little fuzzy—I can't remember a whole lot about my fall of the aftermath of it. Ezra says he can remember the entire thing— probably because he was so scared. Me? Just a hazy cloud, with some fuzzy memories thrown into the mix.

Eventually, when the shock of the fall wore off, I could move a bit. Ezra helped me up into a sitting position, and that's all I remember for a while, except for when Ezra took off his sweater and put it on me. I guess I must have been shivering or something. And he noticed! He seemed to notice every little thing about me! It was kinda nice—the thing I held onto when all my other thoughts were floating hazily away. He noticed me!

A while later—Ezra tells me it was a couple of hours, but it strangely didn't feel that long—we heard my Riverbend friends (and teachers) calling my name. They sounded kinda distant, but they would eventually come closer.

"Mallory?"

I looked up at Ezra.

"Is that your name?"

I nodded, somewhat clumsily.

"Hi, Mallory, I'm Ezra. Nice to meet you," he smiled.

I smiled back, the biggest, friendliest smile I could manage. What else could I do? Apparently I wasn't up to talking yet, so smiling would just have to do.

Ezra explained that he was on a class trip, too—only he went to a wilderness school up here in Mass. He knew how to camp better than I did, and entertained me with funny stories until our help finally arrived—in the form of my classmates and his. He stayed with me then, too; insisted on it in fact! He got someone to give him some paper and a pen, and he wrote down his school address, his e-mail, and his birthday and full name for me! Then he asked if he could write to me at school! I nodded 'yes,' and then Smita and Sarah wrote down my school address and e-mail for me. They included my birthday, full name, and likes and dislikes, I found out later! What good friends!

Ezra and I are still together today. We write letters and e-mails, we talk on Skype (when I'm home), and we try to get together sometimes when we're at school. This is love! To think—all I needed to find true love was to fall down a cliff! Simple, huh?


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11: JESSI**

By Wonder

I can't imagine my life without ballet. I love the movement and emotion it has to offer. But the winter of my freshman year, I found myself stuck in a rut.

After middle school, I decided to wait one more year before attending the ballet academy in New York and complete the ninth grade in Stoneybrook. Although I was excited for a new city and a fresh start, I didn't like dancing as much as I used to.

In fact, I kind of hated it.

During the fall, I began dreading going to classes. I brushed off the feelings and figured I was just tired and stressed from high school. I ended up not trying out for any major parts in the Stamford Ballet Christmas Show, which surprised _everyone_. Once the show was over, I stopped my daily practices at home and found excuses to skip out of classes.

I can't explain why I felt that way. It was like my head _knew_ I should love ballet, but my heart just didn't _feel_ it. Well, Mama and Daddy must have noticed the change because one January evening they sat me down for a talk in the den.

Daddy went straight to the point. "Jessi, you haven't been enjoying dance lately."

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Sweetie," Mama said slowly, more cautiously. "Do you still want to go to New York?"

_That _got my attention. "Of course I do!"

Daddy looked at me, unconvinced. "Are you sure? You haven't been practicing and you've missed your last couple Stamford classes."

I stared down at my hands. He was right. For someone who supposedly loved ballet, I sure was doing my best to avoid it.

"I want to study in New York. Ballet is _my life_. It's just—" my voice trailed off as I struggled with my words.

"It's just?" Daddy prodded.

I let out a sigh. "Something is _missing_, that's all."

There. I admitted it. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. What type of dancer loses her passion? I could practically hear Madame Noelle scolding me for lacking true dedication.

But Mama spoke before I could start bawling. "You know, Jessi, you've been dancing for so long that it's not unusual to feel unmotivated. Since you've just started your last semester at SHS, how would you like to try something new?"

"What?!" I exclaimed. "And not do ballet for a semester?"

Mama laughed, "No, no! But on afternoons you don't have dance class, you could do something else. Trying something new might help you enjoy ballet again."

I thought about what she said. I kind of doubted it would work, but I guess it couldn't hurt.

Daddy gave me a warm smile and a hug. "We'll let you think about this on your own."

--

I began brainstorming that night. First I made a list of some hobbies and things I was good at. Next, I called Mallory Pike. Even though she was away at boarding school most of the year, we managed to keep in touch and I knew I could count on her help.

I explained my situation and she immediately had me read off my list.

"Well," she began, "You've always been great with kids and you like reading. Why don't you combine the two and become a tutor? You could work with kids after school or something."

Her idea was brilliant and I told her so.

"You could even call Claudia. Since her mom works at the library, she might have some tips," Mal added.

After saying goodbye to Mal, I called Claudia. It was a little strange, dialing the number of the old BSC. But I didn't have time to get nostalgic, because Claud answered after the first ring.

"Claudia? It's me, Jessi."

"Jessi? Hi…how are you?" I could hear the surprise in her voice. I couldn't blame her. I wasn't really friends with her or the other girls since they started high school, and most of my time had been devoted to ballet.

"Hey Claud, I'm fine. Listen, I know this is out of the blue, but I'm hoping to become a reading tutor for kids. Would your mom know of any group I could join?"

As it turned out, Mrs. Kishi _did_ know of a reading program. In fact, she had been talking about it with Claudia recently, and Claud gladly shared the information with me. It turned out the library started an after-school reading program, and they welcomed new volunteers. Claudia put me on the phone with her mother, and after a few minutes I had scheduled my first afternoon of tutoring.

--

I ended up tutoring three times a week, and worked with students from Stoneybrook Elementary who struggling with reading and comprehension. The kids were great and a lot of fun to be around. They always had jokes to share and stories to tell. One little boy reminded me of Jackie Rodowsky—he had a head full of red hair, freckles, and somehow even managed to get into a little mischief (by accident, of course). Of course, it wasn't all fun and games. A lot of them would get frustrated as they stumbled with the little books we read together. But I helped them work through it and by the end of the program, I was amazed by their progress. Over the months I watched kids go from struggling with simple sentences to reading _entire_ _pages_ with ease.

Another thing happened once I started tutoring—I started to look forward to ballet again. I went back to my routine of waking up early to practice in the basement, and I didn't make up silly excuses to miss class. Mama had been right along; all I needed was a new activity to help me appreciate ballet again. I guess ballet had been my world for so long that I had grown tired of it. But tutoring gave me a little break and that was exactly what I needed.

--

It's strange how it all happened. I lost my love of dance and turned to tutoring to find it. In the end I found that passion again, but I also re-discovered how much I like working with children. I had spent so much time focused _only_ on ballet, that I didn't let myself develop other areas and interests. I had even allowed my old Baby-sitters Club friendships to drift away. It was a tough lesson to learn, and while I'm still dedicated to becoming a professional ballerina, I'll never forget that it's always worth it to broaden your world.

So even though I finished up high school in the Big Apple, my favorite high school memory is still back in Stoneybrook. And it's all thanks to hating ballet. . . at least for a little while.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12: CONCLUSION**

By Apologiesqueen

It had been a long time since Mallory had really thought about the influence the BSC had on her life. Riding home from Kristy's house with Jessi's dad, thoughts tumbled around in her brain almost faster than she could keep up with them.

When she got to her house, she ran to her room, shouting "I'll tell you later!" to her family, who asked how the barbecue had gone. She grabbed a fresh notebook and settled at her desk to write.

_The Baby-sitters Club. I'm proud to say it was totally my idea, even though the four of us worked it out together. "Us" is Mary Anne Spier, Claudia Kishi, Stacey McGill, and me—Kristy Thomas._

_I got the idea on the first Tuesday afternoon of seventh grade. . . ._

_Notes: The text from Mallory's story is from _Baby-sitters Club #1: Kristy's Great Idea_ by Ann M. Martin, copyright Scholastic, Inc. Thanks to Chicken Queen for transcribing the passage!_


End file.
